


noice, smort

by zoomer (orphan_account)



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, jake is scared to tell amy he loves her, jake/rosa friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 16:23:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12369537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/zoomer
Summary: Jake realises that he's in love a week and a half after he and Amy start dating.He fails every time that he tries to tell her, and when he does manage it, he still gets choked up, and still feels the need to plaster his go-to emotional coverups in front of his words, because it doesn't seem completely real.It's a good thing that he's better at showing it than he is at saying it.





	noice, smort

The moment that Jake realises that he loves her is the moment that he knows he should've known sooner. 

He realises a week and a half after they start dating, when he's humouring Amy by drinking the orangina she'd gotten for him as he pretends not to watch her weaving around his massage chairs to get to the kitchen. There's a sigh ghosting her lips as she moves, and it causes Jake to frown from where he lounges on the sofa. 

To a degree that he is doing his very best to suppress, he finds the ordeal of her vandalised police poster hilarious. As it seems to be genuinely bothering her, however, he's - for once - keeping his comments to himself. Instead, he presses his glass against his lips, but hastily recoils from it and gagging silently into his wrist at the taste of 'orange soda'. 

He glances back at the kitchen, where he can hear Amy fiddling with the coffee machine, and he's suddenly caught between contemplations of tipping his glass's remnants out the window while she’s gone, and the fact that things are _good_ , in a way that they never have been before. 

Jake hadn't realised that his life was capable of this extent of improvement before Amy. Other than the the crippling debt, and the heavily suppressed abandonment issues, he's always experienced life to be manageable, enjoyable, and never entirely terrible. What he hadn't known was that it had the capacity to be great, amazing; weirdly and indefinably meaningful - and all because of Amy. 

She's his girlfriend, and it makes everything better. Jake knows that it's a silly cliche, one that he's never had a lot patience for, but as Amy reenters the living room and smiles when his eyes meet hers, it makes a bizarre amount of sense - and as does the fact that this is the happiest he's ever been, that she makes him the happiest he's ever been. 

The smile fades when her eyes fall to the table, however, and she stoops to pick up his glass with a half scornful look on her face. She berates, "Come on, babe. Coaster." 

"Right," Jake says, as she turns on her heel and back towards the kitchen, shaking her head at him with a smile that spoils her stern stance. "Where're you going?" 

"To get you a coaster," she calls. "Where do you keep them?" 

"Crap," Jake murmurs under his breath. 

He's instantly on his feet, trailing after her. He finds her on her toes as she reaches for the taller cabinet doors, her hair swinging in silky tresses down her back. She's saying, probably more to herself than to him, "I didn't see any in the drawers..." 

Jake tries to figure out how to break the news to her, and instead just drags out the middle syllable of an uncertain grumble. "Uhhh." 

"Where did you say they were?" Amy asks, turning her head and not her body, question alight in her eyes. 

"I didn't," Jake replies, his right hand falling into a nervous finger gun as he says it. "Because of the possibility that they are not here. At all." 

"Not here?" Amy furrows a brow at him, dropping her arms from the cabinet. "As in, you don't have any coasters?" 

"It is possible," Jake agrees, "that I do not have any coasters, no." 

" _Jake_ ," Amy reproaches, her voice going high in that way he likes to make fun of whenever something that distresses her occurs. "Wha - ? How long have you not - ? You, you just, you just don't use coasters? Ever?" 

"Do you want me to like, lie... ?" Jake trails off, cringing. 

"But what about your furniture?" Amy asks him. 

"What about my furniture?" Jake furrows a brow.

For a moment, she's dumbfounded, and the look she gives him makes it obvious. Then, she declares, as if it's the most obvious thing to do, "Okay, well... I guess we're just going to have to go the nearest home store right away and remedy this." 

"Ames," Jake whines. "Can't we go tomorrow? It's been a long day, and I really just want to chill out. You know?" 

"Jake, you can't just _not_ have any coasters," Amy tells him. "I mean, how many rings do you have on your coffee table? Your bedside table? They must be everywhere, and I can't tell how it's possible you would've seen them and just not acted on - okay, stop it, why are you looking at me like that?!" 

Jake sort of stumbles over his response, because something has occurred to him and it's forced him to loose his capacity to think. Amy's odd fixation had alerted him to the possibility of her ramblings being related to other sources of stress, and so he had immediately started inspecting her frame with a worried detective's eye. He takes into account what she's wearing, and realises in doing this that what adorns her upper half is suspiciously oversized. She's paired a grey shirt that seems too baggy to be fashionable with her black booty shorts, and in extent that it seems unlikely she'd be willing to wear it. Unless... 

"N-nothing," he says, something akin to a breathless chuckle passing his lips. "It's just... Is that my shirt?" 

He knows that it's his shirt, so he isn't exactly sure why he's questioning her. Probably because it seems absurd, that _Amy Santiago_ is in _his_ apartment, wearing _his_ shirt, and complaining about _his_ coaster-less ways. He's glad that he does, regardless, because it elicits a part of her that he's never seen before. 

She's _blushing_. Her cheeks flush, hotly, and she wraps her arms around her middle as her eyes fall to the blue nail polish on her suddenly clenched toes. Reluctantly, she replies, "Maybe." 

Suddenly, he's grinning, positively beaming. He bursts out with his typical teasing as he launches himself at her, scooping her into his arms and peppering her face with kisses as she squeals. 

As he carries her to the living room and sets her atop the closest massage chair, he has to swallow a lump of acknowledged love down his throat. He'll never know when it was, exactly, that he fell in love with Amy, but he'll never forget the moment - this moment - when it became clear to him that he was. 

xxx. 

The acknowledged but unspoken love reiterates itself some weeks after this, and in a manner which makes him feel pressured to say something.

It’s Friday night, and his turn to choose a movie, which means only one thing: Die Hard marathon. 

Unfortunately, Amy has done that infuriatingly irresistible thing where she looks at him with puppy dog eyes, asking, “Can we please watch something other than Die Hard? You know I love it, but you make me watch it every time it’s your turn to pick, and I’m really not in the mood for it tonight.” 

“ _Not_ in the mood for Die Hard?” Jake looks at her in bewilderment. “That exists?” 

“Jake,” she says, tilting her head slightly as she fixates him with big eyes. “Please?” 

“Fine,” Jake murmurs, begrudgingly. “There’s this horror movie I’ve been wanting to watch for a while, anyways…” 

“Thank you,” Amy smile sweetly at him, leaning up to kiss his cheek. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, shrugging her off as if he wouldn’t choose to never watch Die Hard ever again if it meant he could always have her like this. 

The disgruntled facade drops fairly swiftly; within minutes, they’ve loaded the movie on Netflix, and she’s settled snugly on his shoulder with his arm draped loosely around her shoulders. He hates to admit it, but this is the perfect way to end the week. Even despite his favourite movie laying untouched in its overused cover, the weight of the unsaid words in his chest, and the occurrence of what he’d genuinely never expected to happen. 

Obviously, nothing scares Jake. Obviously. It’s just that there’s something about this particular movie, and this particular killer, and the relationship he shares to these particular victims, and the manner in which he’s performing these particular murders, that is starting to low-key freak him out a little, tiny bit. 

It’s bothering him, a lot, because he’s a police detective, and he has solved murder cases himself, before. He genuinely believed himself to be tougher than this, and is now wondering as he discreetly cringes at the gruesome acts playing out on the screen, if there is something seriously wrong with him. 

He sneaks a look at Amy, trying to decipher if she’s struggling with this movie, as well. Unfortunately, she seems fairly indifferent, her eyes sleepy but unblinking from where she’s nuzzled into his shoulder, the reflection of the movie glowing on the thick lenses of her big glasses. 

“Oh, wow,” he mumbles, before he can help it, when a line of blood is drawn over somebody’s bared neck. “This is, uh, pretty gnarly… gnarlier than I thought it’d be…” 

Amy doesn’t jump at the chance to tease him, which forces him into realisation that she’s tireder than he’d initially assumed — perhaps too tired to realise just how messed up the events of the film are. She looks up at him, grinning, and squeezes his arm; “Scared, baby?” 

“Pfft,” Jake exaggerates a scoff. “No. It’s not like we haven’t faced way worse before, what with being professionally ranked detecti— _OH_ MY GOD, _WHAT_ IS THAT, _WHAT_ THE HELL, WHAT — ?!” 

His dismissive tone falls halfway through the sentence amongst shrill cries that are completely involuntary, as something unexpected jumps from the screen and vulnerability steals his ability to maintain his facade. In his frantic movements, he thrashes the blanket and accidentally sits on the remote, cloaking the room in darkness as the television switches off and his frantic cries crumble amongst his own flurried breathing. 

For a moment, it’s absolutely silent in the dark. It is, without a doubt, the most embarrassing moment of his life. And then, without any regard for the love he’s trying not to be aware of, Amy dissolves into the most endearingly sleepy fit of giggles imaginable.

There’s something about this that makes all of the terror and humiliation in the world worth it. Something about the silhouette of the woman he loves, in her big glasses and his big shirt, laughing hysterically against his arms with her eyes crinkled with sleep and her voice cooing in teasing comfort at him, that - miraculously - makes him glad to have made _that_ much of an idiot of himself. 

When he regains his ability to move, he squeezes her frame lightly, allowing a few chuckles himself as the shock wares off and the love sinks in. He’s about to tell her to stop when a prompt knock pounds at the door, and Amy immediately silences, her overjoyed expression replaced by one of scandalised excitement. 

“We’re getting a noice complaint!” she exclaims, softly. 

“No, we’re not,” Jake manages, barely. 

They hear a second knock, more aggressive than the first, and Amy presses a grinning kiss to his lips as she lips out of his embrace. She departs with a murmured, “I’ll be back in a minute…” 

She switches on the light as she walks to the front door, and he realises as she disappears down the front hall that she’s about to interact with one of his neighbours. He listens to her voice, polite and assertive, drifting back through the house — “I’m so sorry, Mr Richards, we’ll be sure to be quieter from now on” — and wonders how it’s possible that one person could be that perfect. Wishes, as she comes back and boldly challenges him to persist through the movie — “I believe in you, Jake!” — that she could somehow know just how much she means to him. 

xxx. 

It’s an understatement to say that communicating with Rosa on issues outside of work can be challenging, even if they both consider one another to be amongst the most important people in their respective lives. 

Despite this, Jake one day approaches her with a Spanish phrase that he’s only fifty percent sure is legitimate. He knows that, for Amy’s sake, he needs to check it by somebody he trusts even more than what he does Google. 

He approaches her the Monday following the horror movie escapade, professing, “Te amo, mi cariño.” 

“Nope,” Rosa tells him, shortly, without looking up from her paperwork. 

“Nope?” Jake sounds confused. 

“Nope,” Rosa affirms. “Whatever that was supposed to be, it wasn’t.” 

Jake furrows his brow. “I love you?” 

This causes Rosa to look up, confused. “Is that what you meant to say?” 

“Yeah. I wanted to run it by somebody who actually knows how to speak Spanish,” Jake explains with a shrug. “I figure it’ll be easier to tell Amy I love her if I can’t completely understand what it is that I’m admitting to.” 

Rosa nods, refocussing on her paper. “That makes more sense.” 

“Not that I don’t love you,” Jake says. “I mean, we’ve known each other for, like, ever, and you’re one of my best friends — God, why is it so much easier to say it to you?” 

“Because the consequences of you making a mistake with me aren’t as life ruining,” Rosa says. “The minute you tell Amy that you’re in love with her, it’s pretty much hit or miss on the future of your relationship.” 

“Wow,” Jake grins at her. “As helpful and as totally not off-putting as that is, I think I’m gonna have to go.” 

Rosa rolls her eyes as he turns away, unable to believe that she’s actually going to call him back to talk about personal issues. Regardless, she pulls away from her desk, beckoning, “Jake.” 

He turns to her, and she says, “She loves you too. And even if she didn’t, it’s not like you to be cowardly.” 

Jake looks at her, smiles. “Rosa… Have you secretly been a massive softie this whole time?” 

“The translation’s right,” Rosa ignores his question, turning back to her work. 

“Yes!” Jake exclaims, pulling his fist downwards. “I knew that everybody was lying about Google translate not being trustworthy.” 

“Get back to work, Peralta,” she answers him, totally nonchalant. “Tell her how you feel on your own time.” 

“You got it,” Jake says, and returns to his desk. 

And he means to, he does - but every time the words are on the edge of his tongue, he gets distracted. Amy asks him to stop by the office suppliant store closest to her apartment, and then compares binders proficient to case solving for a half hour. Amy asks him to show her how he makes his spaghetti so ‘not hard’, and he ends up performing an elaborate impromptu cooking show parody. They get called in for an emergency store break-in Charles is somehow apart of, and end up having to leave the apartment and deal with criminals until an hour that’s much too late.

He doesn’t end up thinking about ‘te amo, mi cariño’ until much later that night, after they’ve collapsed into bed with melodramatic groans of exhaustion, and are digging themselves into the mattress and around one another. 

It’s as comfortable as always is, having Amy in his arms and her legs trapped between his, but there’s something wrong with their routine murmured goodnight’s and fluttered eyelids. It occurs to Jake as soon as he starts wondering. 

“Amy?” he says. 

“Yeah?” she answers.  
“We didn’t turn off the lights.” 

There’s a beat, and then, she groans. It’s louder and longer than he’s ever heard from her; “ _Urggghhh_.” 

“We don’t have to turn them off,” Jake says. 

“No, we do,” Amy grumbles. “I’m not gonna be able to sleep like this.” 

“Well, then, you do it,” Jake says, and settles back into the pillow. 

“Excuse me?” Amy asks. 

“You’re the one who needs them off,” Jake reasons, ignoring as she pokes his face. 

“I’m also the one who had to work on a surprise store robbery until two in the morning!” Amy murmurs, pinching his cheeks. 

“Uh, so am I?” he points out, refusing to open his eyes as Amy’s hands on his face tighten. 

“ _Urggghhh_ ,” Amy groans again, slamming her head into what she’s using as a pillow; his arm. “Fine, let’s just… How about we use Rock Paper Scissors to decide who has to do it?” 

“Rock Paper Scissors?” Jake smiles into his pillow. 

“Don’t say anything,” Amy says, pulling up one of his fists with her sweatshirt covered hand. “Just, do this with me.” 

“Title of your sex tape,” he murmurs, but opens his eyes regardless, and lines his fist with hers. 

They shake their fists - his bare with a jutting thumb, hers scrunched in her navy sweatshirt — three times in unison to one another, faces close together to the point they’re almost touching foreheads. On the third shake, he balls his fist in ‘rock’, and is mirroring her groan as she flattens her palm in the only move that can defeat his. 

“Happy?” he asks her, after he’s disentangled from her and clambered over to the light, and the room has blackened. 

There’s no response, except for Amy’s light snores. 

As to how she manages this, he has no idea; he always needs at least fifteen minutes of rolling around before falling asleep. He smiles crookedly, sleepily, and crawls back into bed, pulling her back into his arms. 

In her sleep, she nuzzles into his chest, and there’s a hitch in her breathing that disrupts her snores and mucks up her rhythm. She ends up sort of chortling against him, and he runs a hand through her hair and a lazy kiss to her hairline. 

He murmurs a second goodnight; “I love you, Amy.” 

xxx.

Jake doesn’t even end up being the first one to say the words. 

To worsen this, he still gets choked up; and still feels the need to plaster his go-to emotional coverups in front of his words. “I love you,” she says, and she’s confident in her words even though he can see the vulnerability in her eyes. 

“Noice,” he answers. “Smort.” 

She offers him a vaguely confused look in response, a level of hurt brimming her gaze, and Jake forces himself to actually take in her profession. It doesn’t seem plausible, so his response doesn’t seem necessary — but, all of a sudden, looking at her, it’s obvious. 

“I love you, too,” he says, and knows that it’s been ridiculous, him putting this off, because she loves him too.

**Author's Note:**

> if you have anything you want written for b99 please leave requests! it's very helpful for inspiration. also this isn't my best like at aaaall so apologies for that, hope you enjoyed regardless x


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